In Which Sansa Shouldn't play with magic
by skyONflames
Summary: When Sansa came to again she was holding in her hands a glass filled with a liquid of the most pretty shade of pink she ever saw, the color swirling in hypnotising circles. All she had to do now was drink it. Yes. this is what she waited for all her life, her chance at happiness. She took the glass to her lips.
1. Chapter 1

If is there anything to be said about forest witches is that there is no maximal amount of drugs one can take and this witch in particular certainly made it her life's goal to smoke all the vision inducing drugs in Westeros, maybe even Essos by the look of her permanent goofy smile and the glazed over eyes. Must be some happy visions. But Sansa made sure to come here in the early morning to ensure a somewhat fruitful conversation with the witch. And what a fruitful conversation, indeed.

"From there to here. From here! To there! All black and brown and covered in hair!..." the witch sang. It's what she kept doing since Sansa set foot on her threshold. She tried to get her attention, to shake her, to threaten her but the only reaction she got was a hysterical laugh and another rendition of that awfully ridiculous song. And not a very good performance either. The off-note keys and that high-pitched, gravelly voice would make even the deaf clutch their ears in agony.

She probably wont find the help she needed here anyway. She hoped that the witch will be able to help her find happiness. Wasn't that what princesses and ladies from the songs did when all hope was lost? Go to the forest, find a witch, state your wish, cut your finger, say a spell and -POOF! They lived happily ever after. Easy. Except the fact that in the stories the enchanted beings weren't high on whatever drug they decided to abuse, and didn't sing their clientele's ears off. And if they did, how by The Seven did they reason with them?

Sansa sighed turning around, taking in the mess that was the witch's hut. The otherwise spacious chamber was rendered practically the size of a barrel from all the things scattered about. Thread, feathers and animal parts were hanging low from the ceiling, making Sansa duck her head in horror every time the breeze would sway them. The big round table in the center of the floor was falling under the weight of numerous glass vials - some empty, some filled with colored liquid - a cauldron with a muddy substance in it that made Sansa's nose loose all it's fine hairs, and underneath a pile of unwashed plates and stinking clothes - doesn't this woman believe in water? - she could see the golden corners of a thick book. In the corner of the hut was a makeshift bed that curiously enough seemed rather clean. At least she likes to sleep in somewhat clean sheets. Either that or the witch doesn't sleep in the bed ...or at all. The fireplace had another cauldron boiling furiously above the smouldering fire. Cupboards covered almost every wall and were filled with jars the contents of which were better of unmentioned and ... Oh, Holy Mother! Is that a human ear?

She should really go now. Who knows that when the old bat's head is filled with anything other then that bawdy song it wont be thoughts of murder and cutting little Sansa and putting her in a jar like pickles for better preservation. Winter is coming, don't you know? And old hags living alone in the forest have to eat too. On that happy thought, Sansa started to make a beeline to the exit when a sudden crash stopped her feet. She turned slowly to see that the happy fool had fallen face down on the floor and didn't seem to be moving at all. Not even the telltale signs of breath being drown. Is she dead? Good! That's what you get for wanting to cut me up and put me in small dirty jars! Although that can't really be the reason the Gods decided to punish the old lady. Sansa doubted she was even aware of her presence. But she should leave before somebody pines this death on her too.

Or not...? Among the sounds of chirping birds outside and the boiling of the cauldron, she could hear sound of faint mumbling. Sansa stepped slowly to the prone figure on the floor and bent down. She could make out some of the words now."The bear ...maiden fair ... bear"

"Are you serious?" Sansa asked irritated and then flinched as the old woman quickly stood up raised her hands toward the ceiling and started singing that awful song again with renewed enthusiasm.

"From there to here. From here! To there! All black and brown and covered in hair!" She started spinning around, the things hanging from the ceiling catching on her hands and then further flung about the room. A foot of some poor fluffy thing landed in Sansa's face causing her to scream and to step back a couple times. A dull thud followed her shriek and she saw the witch on the floor again, this time face up, eyes closed and the steady rise and fall of her chest told Sansa that the witch finally fell asleep. The loud snore that came from her throat next further confirmed that.

What to do now? Leave? But the crazy was asleep and sleep was known for clearing one's head and Sansa was determined to get what she came here for. Or not that determined. If she saw as much as a nail near any part of her body that wasn't her finger with the intention to cut she will be on her horse and riding for Winterfell faster then the witch could blink. So what to do? Snoop around? Although Petyr would agree, snooping would require touching and she is not going to, even with gloves on.

She never thought that she would find herself in this situation; going to beg help from the obviously mentally ill. Although she could argue that this was the most exciting thing she did in a long time. Her betrothal to Ramsay was going well. Petyr said he had fallen for her though she sometimes wonders if he is not just playing his part and hides his true feelings. She senses that from him -whenever he is with her, playing the dutiful husband-to-be- a constant feeling of fakeness. That she could relate with. King's Landing has left her mark on her and fake is all she is allowed, taught by Petyr to be. She doesn't want that anymore. She wants happiness, and by The Seven, happiness can't come fast enough.

Pacing holes in the limited space allowed by all the clutter, the golden corners of the book beneath the dirty clothing caught her eye. She looked at the sleeping figure on the floor - the old lady didn't move an inch - and lightly touched the cover before gripping it tightly and pulling the book out. It looked like an old grimoire, with golden letters giving the title of the book on a background of pure black leather. She didn't understand the language and she could hardly guess what part of the world it come from.

The pages were littered with what looked like runes that Sansa couldn't assign any meaning to. There was the occasional picture of women stirring over a cauldron or sometimes numbers that she took to mean the quantity of each ingredient. It was all quite fascinating actually.

The last page though was in the common tongue. Strange. And stranger still there was no title for the potion, or any description to go with it like the others seem to have. Just dull instructions for its creation. Dull instructions that seemed quite easy to follow and she was a bit bored. Sansa looked at the witch on the floor and saw the witch passed out still. She wouldn't even know. And the ingredients were easy to come by...

It didn't even register to her as hands fished a relatively clean pot from the table or even when she left for the nearby stream to fill it with water then return to replace the already boiling cauldron with her half filled pot. When it started to boil she realized she was cutting a great leaf in fine, long ribbons. What am I even doing? What is this for? And then she remembered: it was for the potion. Yes. She knew for sure that it will bring her happiness. Yes. She needs to finish this... the shredded leaf first then a long lock of hair, in a five strand braid, five drops of blood... The tail of a mouse? From where? Oh. That jar over there. Perfect. Dove's wings, a flightless bird's feather, stag's antlers reduced to powder, one inch of human skin...

When Sansa came to again she was holding in her hands a glass filled with a liquid of the most pretty shade of pink she ever saw, the color swirling in hypnotising circles. All she had to do now was drink it. Yes. this is what she waited for all her life, her chance at happiness. She took the glass to her lips. Distantly she herd the high-pitched, gravelly voice of the witch telling her to stop. But it didn't matter to Sansa she slowly took a sip, and then downed the whole thing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Sandor Clegane**

It was a fine morning and it promised to shape the rest of his day. The sun was shining, the bird were chirping, the wine was... well, there was wine and the whore was doing some pretty weird things with her tongue. Not that he was complaining. It was well over three years since he had a lay and he was going to enjoy every single second of it, weird ass tongue swirling included.

He opened his eyes to enjoy the view of a head of black tresses bobbing up and down on his cock. She was a pretty thing, with soft curves, long hair soft to the touch between his grasping fingers, black eyes closed in concentration and those lips... wrapped snugly against his manhood. It really was a fine morning.

The woman stopped. She took him in her hand and looked up at him with her big eyes, fluttering her eyelids. "Shall we take this to the bed?" she asked, and all he could give her was a grunt of agreement.

What could he say? She was _really_ good at her job.

She rose from her kneeing position on the floor, took his hand and proceeded to drag him from the chair that he was seating on toward the rickety bed in the room. A small thing, that screeched with every move and he'd bet it was actually less comfortable than the floor.

When they reached it, the little cunt proceeded to push him on it, straddle his hips and started kissing every single part of his skin her little mouth could reach. She dragged her teeth to his good ear; he shuddered and gripped her sides. She then rose on her knees and sank on him. If he would have been a lesser man, he would have come then and there.

After a couple of minutes of the chit gyrating and moving up and down and generally doing a great job of making him lose his mind, she brought her mouth to his ear again. "Eileen," she whispered.

"What?"

"My name. It's Eileen. I want you to call my name when you come."

Demanding bitch, wasn't she? Still he did not answer her, only watched at her with a look that she took for blind agreement, but really it was only one of intense concentration not to spill his entire being inside of her. And gods, he was getting closer. A few more thrusts and he was done for.

He opened his eyes, not remembering closing them and when he did, he went as stiff as a board, because the black haired beauty before him was replaced by a red haired goddess. He blinked and the whore was back. She slowed down, eventually stopped and looked at him, questions in her eyes.

"The fuck are you stopping for?" he snapped and the woman resumed her motions, only now he could feel the pleasure in his loins decreasing and he couldn't have that. Not now, when he was so close to the end.

In a desperate act he grabbed Eileen and flipped them over so that he was the one on top and he started pumping vigorously and with little regard for the pleasure of the one beneath him. He looked down at her face and again he saw someone he hadn't seen in a long time. But he didn't stop this time because he could feel himself coming to a close again, staring into her beautiful blue eyes and her heart shaped face. "Sansa..." he whispered.

"My name is Eileen." she forced out, and the spell was broken and the beautiful goddess from before was replaced again by the face of the common whore. And maybe he was losing his mind, but wasn't Eileen pretty too? Because she wasn't any more; and not in the sense of I've-seen-a-greater-beauty and-this-one-now-pales-in-comparison kind of way, but more like how-drunk-must-I've-been-to-even-consider-this. He stopped completely, erection deflated and no pleasure achieved, and stared at Eileen's face as it became even uglier; her hair bristled, her skin wrinkled, and on her face pimples of great variety started popping into existence.

The whore smiled in an attempt to besiege him to continue what they had began, and by doing that she revealed rotting teeth and a foul breath. He jumped as if burned out of the bed, stalked to his clothing and started to get dressed with great urgency, because, really, if he stayed in the same room with _that_ , he will be sick.

What the fucking fuck? He made some bad decisions in his life, and the alcohol made him make even worse decisions, but he never woke up to one of the ugliest women in Westeros.

And he doesn't want to sound like a hypocrite. He knows he's not much to look at either, but at least half his face is in good standing condition. He looked back at Eileen as he was buckling his belt to see her coming to him with a look of disappointment on her face and he really must losing his minds because she was pretty again.

"Come now, I wasn't so bad, was I?" she said with a forceful smile.

Awkward silence, that seemingly stretched infinitely, filled the room, with him looking at her with baiting breath to see the change happening again and her looking at as if he gone insane because what kind of sound minded man would stop fucking such a good piece of ass moments before completion?

"No, you were as good as the money I gave you." He finally said with a grimace.

She glided closer, satisfied by his answer. "Then what say you to get undressed again," her left hand touched the shirt on his shoulders then drifted down on his chest, almost touching the skin, "and finish what we started."

Huh. It seemed his cock didn't mind one bit and what the hell? He paid for it for crying out loud. "You better make it good." He told her and her face lit with a victorious smile.

She brought her hands up to undo the few buttons of his shirt he managed fasten. He was ready to forget whatever happened a few minutes ago, for her face promised a lay he won't soon forget. She really was quite the beauty. Her knuckles touched the skin of his chest and _oh dear Gods,_ she was not a beauty _at all_!

He jumped out of her reach and she was pretty again. He carefully watched her unblemished skin for any imperfections but all he could see on her face was extreme irritation. "This is ridiculous." She snapped, hands on her hips. "If you don't like my services perhaps you should go to this Sansa of yours!" she huffed, crossing her hands. _The fuck_ was she getting jealous for? She was getting paid do this kind of thing. It's not like he owed her something. But she did have a good point. He really should go find Sansa.

"Yeah, I think I'll leave." And in a daze he started dressing again. _Sansa_ ; it's been a while since he last saw her. Almost five years. She ought to become quite a woman by now for she was beautiful even as a child and now, he was sure she must be having the eyes of every man she passed following her every move.

He supposed he was a bit jealous. After all, what sane man wouldn't want to posses such a woman and call her his?

And now that the thought entered his mind his whole body sang with new purpose. _He would make Sansa his and he will cut down anyone who stands in his way._

He finished lacing his boots with a smile on his face. He straightened up, took his coat from the back of the chair he sat before, when he received one of the best blowjobs in his life. He faltered for a moment, then, _I'm sure Sansa can suck even better the any other woman in the world and if she doesn't, I'll teach her!_

Wicked smile on his face, he made for the door when Eileen voice interrupted him. "My money!"

"What?" he asked confused and turned to see her seated with her back facing him at her vanity table, brushing her long hair, watching him with guarded eyes through the mirror.

"You only gave me half of price. You said you'll give me the other half after we finish."

"Well I didn't finish." He snapped back.

"It's not my fault you have performance issues. "

What? He can perform very well, thank you very much. "It's not my fucking fault you're a turn off."

That seemed to make her angry, for she slammed her hands on the table and turned on her chair, eyes sparking furiously. "Listen! I don't have time to play semantics with you, so you better pay up or I'll call Brutus!"

 _Shit._ That beast was even bigger than himself and he didn't have time to fight the mammoth of a man when he _needed_ to find Sansa.

He dug into his pockets and fished a few coppers and a dragon. He made to pocket the dragon back when a thought flashed in his mind: what if the chit will go around spreading rumors about his lacking performance? And not that he gave two shits about what the people thought about him but, what if the rumors reached Sansa's ears? He couldn't handle _that_ embarrassment.

"Fine," he said, "here." He deposited the coppers on the chair. He then held the dragon for her to see. "I trust that this will hold your silence about whatever the fuck happened here?" His voice was foreboding.

Her eyes shone. "Aye," she agreed. "I won't breathe a word."

"Good." He dropped the dragon on the pile of coppers and then he left her room.

The brothel's hallways were empty but for a few girls moving about. He passed a few doors behind which men were entertained very well, if the sound of moans and grunts was anything to go by. He saw the exit and made for it when a pretty young thing with brown tress appeared in his way. She blinked seductively at him and approached, pouty lips stretch into smile that promised release of the sweetest kind. He really didn't have time for this shit. He had to find Sansa and make sweet love to her. The whore approached him and dragged her finger over the now buttoned up shirt. "Hello, handsome..."

He didn't let her finish what would have surely been an invitation for him to sample her wares. He grabbed the hand that was gliding over his shirt with the intention to tell her to piss off and then released her it, just as quickly as he grabbed it because for a moment there she transformed into _a thing of nightmares_.

 _Well, fuck him_. His touch did this.

"Well, I hope you'll change your mind." She said with a sigh and turned to leave.

"Wait." He said. She stopped her steps, watched him questionably and he grabbed her hand again, this time watching curiously for the changes that were happening right in front of his eyes.

"So you _do_ want to take this upstairs." She smiled. "That'll be 50 coppers." Didn't she _feel_ her skin filling with sores and ready to explode pimples? Or was it just him? Was it something wrong with his eyes?

And then the answer came. _Yes_. They were made to gaze upon a true goddess of beauty, not whores with painted faces. _Sansa_... _oh, how he wished to see her again._

He released the whore's hand. "No, piss off." And with that he left the brothel, the girls face, beautiful and unblemished, watching him leave with confusion.

Outside, the city of Gulltown was buzzing with life. Merchants shouting their wares for all the world to hear, dogs barking rabidly, people laughing and discussing and...- he jumped out of the way as a pair of drunk people came crashing down through the window of an inn, furiously punching each other's faces into unrecognizable pulps - ...and generally getting along.

 _Sansa wouldn't like it here_ , he thought; _too many unwashed curs and not enough knights and flowers._ No, this place wasn't for her. She belonged in a castle, with servants to see to her every need, to be surrounded by all the fine things a girl like her would want and have all the boys and men falling over themselves to capture her attention.

 _All the boys and men?_ He crashed that thought with a vicious snarl. _No one will be touching his little bird._ No one will be worthy of that honor. And he will make _sure_ it stays that way.

Determined now beyond belief, he entered the inn and bought enough provisions to see him to Winterfell. It cost all the money he had left and a dire threat at the innkeeper's life for she'd better _give him those wineskins, or else!_

With food and drink in a bag, he found Stranger and made for Winterfell, encouraging his horse to speed up as if his life depended on it, dust rising and settling behind him.


End file.
